


with strange eons

by defcontwo



Category: Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't get used to thinking of himself in the present tense. Everything is before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with strange eons

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: "that is not dead which can eternal lie // and with strange eons even death may die." perhaps an unexpected experimental experience with wangst. whoops? whoops.

It wasn't that he had wanted to die. 

Every muscle in his body that wasn't screaming in agony had felt weighted down with the paralyzing thought that this was it. He wasn't gonna see his sixteenth birthday, let alone his eighteenth. He was never gonna find out if he was good enough to finish high school or outgrow Robin or just live long enough to see if he'd ever feel at home in his own skin. 

It's just that in that terrible moment as the clock was ticking down right before the warehouse got blown to hell and back, his already broken body scorched beyond repair - in that moment, he had accepted it. 

He was going to die and there wasn't anything that he or Batman could do to stop it. That's all for now folks, lights out and the curtain falls on Jason Peter Todd's shitty life; another stroke of bad luck in a long line of it. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath and he let himself go. 

Except the curtain rose up again, his one man show got another act, and he doesn't - he doesn't know how to live with it. He doesn't know how to live, period. 

He feels - he feels wrong. Like his own skin is both too tight and too big for him. He doesn't know how he got so tall, grew so big, when he should have stayed fifteen forever. 

He doesn't know why him - why not his mother, the real one, the one that mattered - the one who loved him as best she could, as flawed and damaged as she was. She was a good person who deserved another chance and he was just a dumb kid who fucked up everything he touched.

Who fucks up everything he touches. 

He can't get used to thinking of himself in the present tense. Everything is before. Jason _was_ fifteen. Jason _was_ Robin. 

Jason was crap at math but loved history and stole everything Mary Shelley ever wrote from the school library. He kept the books under a floorboard in his room at the Manor because there was a small part of him that was afraid that if Bruce found out, he'd throw him out for being no less of a thief than he was the day he took Jason in. 

There was another part of him that wanted Bruce to find out just to see what he'd do. 

Jason guesses that's something he hasn't really grown out of, laying traps and watching to see how Bruce reacts, like a kid begging for attention. A line connecting A to C with a few zig zags along the way. 

Robin, past, Red Hood, present - same old sad fucker in the end. 

Jason sits cross-legged on top of his own grave and lights up a cigarette, feels the burn in his lungs and relishes in it. He digs his fingers into the brittle soil and knows it's just a matter of time before he makes his way back. 

Roll on snare, lights out for good, kiddo. 

He laughs, loud and harsh and it echoes in the empty graveyard. He knows that Bruce is there - that the Batman is there, watching him, waiting probably with half a dozen sermons prepared to throw Jason's way. 

But they're sermons made for a dead kid, not the ghost who's come back in his place. Not for the monster who feels ill at the sight of his own flesh. 

One of these days, B'll finally figure that out. Maybe then he'll give up but Jason's not holding his breath over it. 

For now, things stay the same as they ever have since that day in the warehouse. Batman and Robin, separated by a graveyard and a mile long yawning chasm of grief. 

Same old Bruce, same old Jason - sad fuckers the both of them.


End file.
